


Reflections in Cracked Vessels

by estelraca



Category: The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water - Zen Cho
Genre: F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Tet Sang's gender is complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: Tet Sang thought he was fine with the realities of how the world worked.  He thought he was going with Guet Imm to protect her, not the other way around.  So it comes as a bit of a surprise to him when he's being bandaged up by her once more.
Relationships: Guet Imm/Tet Sang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Reflections in Cracked Vessels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadaras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/gifts).



> I also adored this novella, and I hope I captured a bit of these characters for you. They're absolutely fascinating in their different approaches to religion and the lives they used to have, and their relationship with their deity. I hope you enjoy my attempt to capture a bit of their complexity as well as their banter.
> 
> My apologies for any missteps with Malaysian culture; I will happily fix anything that needs fixing.

_Reflections in Cracked Vessels_

“Ah, brother, I am doing this too often.” Guet Imm's fingers are gentle as they tie the bandage around Tet Sang's chest, though, covering the wound.

Between the pressure of the bandage and the salve that Guet Imm slathered on, Tet Sang finds the pain in his side isn't nearly as bad as he had expected. He can breathe comfortably; he thinks he'll even be able to sleep, once they're done taking stock of each other. “You've only had to do it twice.”

“Twice in two months is twice too many.” Guet Imm frowns down at him as she helps him settle down onto the bedroll. Mosquitoes swarm around them, but it's not so bad as it was in the deepest heart of the jungle. “I am supposed to be the dangerous one, not you.”

“You _are_ the dangerous one. You seek to follow the Deity's path still, while I...” Tet Sang allows his eyes to drift closed. “I am simply following you.”

“You are not _merely_ doing anything.” Guet Imm's hand lands on his shoulder, not quite a whack, harder than a touch. “Unless it is driving me to distraction. What _happened_?”

“The mata were going to hurt the child.” Tet Sang swallows. “As an example.”

Guet Imm goes still, her breathing falling into the easy pattern of meditation, but Tet Sang knows that she isn't meditating. She is very far from the ease of meditation right now, just as he is, and he doesn't know how to get either of them back to gentler ground. “Tell me.”

The command is a whisper in his ear, which is far more effective than yelling would be. It reminds him too much of when he was Sister Khanti, of when the abbot or one of the other senior acolytes would call him back from some far-away place of worship or meditation.

_Tell me what you have seen._

_Tell me what you have learned._

_Tell me what you have done._

“I shouldn't have. I _wouldn't_ have, before...” Before he left Fung Cheung and the others, before he decided to follow this woman who lived through what he did but without _breaking_ as he did. “I think the mata were right. I think the child was working with the bandits—out of true conviction, out of hunger, because that's where his father was, I don't know. If we were still with Fung Cheung maybe... I don't know.”

If he had found the child before the mata had, if he had been able to slip the boy out without drawing so much attention—but he hadn't.

Tet Sang should have stayed in the crowd. He should have hidden, as he hid the day everyone else died. He should have looked for a way to avenge the child.

He's seen so much blood and death. He should have walked away, but even if he did, he knows he would have seen the events in his dreams.

“Why did you not find me before the stupidity?” Guet Imm's hand cups his cheek, though the expression on her face is all scowl as she stares down into his eyes. “I could have helped earlier.”

“I didn't want you to use your magic. _I_ might not fear the five fingers of the deity, but the rest of the town... there is a reason we are back among the trees and the mosquitoes rather than enjoying a nice night in a proper inn.” Tet Sang sighs. He had been looking forward to being properly clean. Not that Guet Imm has let their hygiene deteriorate—she seems even more determined now that it is just her and him to keep them as smell-free as their travels allow—but there's nothing quite like a proper night's rest under a proper roof to make one feel... human.

“Idiots.” Guet Imm spits out the invective, moving away from him and rummaging in their packs.

Tet Sang allows himself to drift for a bit, his mind replaying the events of the afternoon. He had hoped that he could create a distraction without actually courting too much trouble—that the child, clearly half-feral, would be able to escape during said distraction, disappearing back into the mire that had birthed him.

Instead Tet Sang had found himself facing down three mata without any back-up or a proper escape plan. If Guet Imm hadn't appeared and used her skills with the fifth finger of the deity, Tet Sang doesn't think he would be here now.

Foolish. He was absolutely foolish, and he knows it. If one of Fung Cheong's men had done something equally stupid—one of _his_ men, before he decided to leave—he would have blistered their skin with his tongue for hours. What does he do when it's his own damned self making stupid choices?

“Here.” Guet Imm's hand slides behind his head, helping to lift him into a sitting position. “Eat.”

Tet Sang attempts to, gagging on the taste. He really should have thought better of letting her cook for him, even if he doesn't really feel capable of doing much right now. He inclines his head to his traveling companion. “Thank you. It's... exactly what I expected.”

Guet Imm crosses her arms in front of her chest, pouting. “You're horrible.”

“Sometimes.” Tet Sang finds himself smiling, enjoying the verbal sparring. “Not as terrible as this porridge, though.”

“I don't understand.” Guet Imm throws her hands up in the air. “Cooking should not be so hard! I do what the others do, I listen to them, I try to repeat, and yet—always it is terrible!”

“Better than starving.” Tet Sang takes another mouthful of the bland, gritty meal. “Marginally.”

Guet Imm's scowl only deepens. “Gratitude is something the deity espouses as sacred.”

“There are many things the deity holds sacred that I find myself having a different relationship with now.” Tet Sang forces himself to eat more. He will need to regain his strength quickly so he doesn't need to eat Guet Imm's cooking for much longer.

Guet Imm's scowl weakens, her eyes searching him, seeming to peel back his clothes and then his skin and then the last years of his life, striving to see him as what he was before the tokong burned.

She will be looking for a long time.

“You follow me.” The words are short, clipped, coming out of nowhere to startle Tet Sang.

He glances at Guet Imm, head tilting, unsure where she's going with this. “Yes?”

“Why?” She moves closer, obliterating the space between them. “Why do you follow me? Fung Cheong loved you. Your contractors loved you. You only Tet Sang to them.”

“Would you prefer I hadn't? Because you're a few weeks late to tell me that now.” Tet Sang sets the bowl aside, holding his heart even more carefully than he does the porridge. It will spill more easily, after all.

“You did not follow to die.” She moves closer still, and her words aren't quite a question—more a challenge, a demand that he admit it to her.

“I did not follow to die.” It's true, after all. He has been running ever since the tokong burned, unwilling to lay down and die as the mata and those they serve wish.

“Good. Because I...” Her hand reaches out, cups his cheek again. “I do not want to lose you.”

He isn't prepared for the kiss. Perhaps it's something about himself—he doesn't know how to predict when people like him, when they will want him. Fung Cheong's kiss when he left had thrown him for a loop, only Fung Cheong's ridiculous charisma and self-assurance keeping it from being a humiliating experience for them both.

When Fung Cheong had said Tet Sang and Guet Imm were already like a married couple, Tet Sang had taken the words to heart. But weeks had spooled out, and there had been nothing but travel, nothing but the easy camaraderie of people on the road between himself and Guet Imm. He had started to think Fung Cheong was wrong.

And now Guet Imm's tongue is in his mouth, her hands are on his face, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to _do_ with that.

She pulls back, watching him warily, her eyes sharp and hard and hurting all at once.

He licks his lips, wondering if he insulted her by not kissing back.

Finally she gives her head a shake, closing her eyes. “I will not do that again, if you do not wish. If you are not ready.”

“What is there to be ready for?” Tet Sang's lips twitch up into a bitter smile. “You still follow the Order's teachings. You are still pious, still in love with the deity.”

Guet Imm scowls, shaking her head. “How such a wise woman can make such a stupid man I do not know.”

“Pain.” The answer slips from him without his meaning to say it, the type of answer he would have given as Sister Khanti. “Pain can make fools of the wisest if it is allowed to take root and fester, just as fear and greed can.”

Guet Imm's hand gentles, stroking down his cheek, pausing at his throat to squeeze gently. A threat? A reminder that he is breathing? A reminder that for all that Guet Imm still loves the deity, she was the one who said that the rules laid down for mortals were meant to be exercised with discretion?

“And what can help the pain?” Guet Imm's hand trails back up, cupping his cheek once more. “What might I do to make you wise again?”

“Find the finger that undoes the past. Except...” Tet Sang sighs, closing his eyes. He doesn't want that, not really. He doesn't want to give up his time with Fung Cheong and the others, no matter how wondrous it would be to go back in time and become only the scholar-teacher once more.

He thought he knew so much, then. Never too much—ego was never one of the pitfalls he fell into regularly. But he felt he was _helping_ , that by reading and interpreting and sharing the scriptures he was really doing a service that would leave the world better.

The work he did then led to the connection that saved Fung Cheong, so he can't say it was _pointless_. And has he really done all that much more since he fled the destruction of the tokong? Or does it simply _feel_ like it's been more because there has been so much violence, so much loss, so much danger?  
Guet Imm kisses him again, and he allows himself to kiss her back, slow and tentative. Her lips are gentle against his, her hands a light breeze against his skin rather than the raging typhoon he had expected.

It wakes something in him that he hadn't known was there, and he kisses her back with a hungry need, a desire to touch and be touched in turn. He hadn't been overly physical with any of the men Fung Cheong led—it could too easily have gone badly, especially when it became clear that Fung Cheong saw him as the second in command.

But then, he hadn't been overly physical as Sister Khanti, either. She had abstained from all things carnal, focusing all of her attention on the deity and the scriptures and the possibilities they opened up. Sister Khanti would not have kissed Guet Imm like this.

But others in the tokong would have. Tet Sang is not naive enough to discount that possibility, though given that Guet Imm spent her time in the tokong as an anchorite—

“Stop _thinking_.” Guet Imm pulls back, frowning at him. “You are all sharp edges, all hard thoughts, even now. You know how to make your thoughts go still and empty. Do so.”

Tet Sang sputters, opening his eyes. “You want me to _meditate_?”

“You know how. You were very good, once.” Guet Imm's hands slide to his shoulders, massaging with practiced ease.

Tet Sang huffs out a breath that is meant to be a laugh but sounds more like a sob. Was he very good, once? What would that even _mean_?

He's thinking too much, still. He doesn't need to hear Guet Imm's irritated huff to know that he is.

He's intentionally thinking too much, using thoughts of the past to keep from considering the present. To keep himself from thinking that he _likes_ this, very much; that he had imagined this, yes, when he decided to follow Guet Imm; that he will _accept_ this, if it goes where he thinks.

_Should_ it go where he thinks?

What will the consequences of that be?

“The rules...” Tet Sang studies Guet Imm's determined face. “The laws. I know I don't have a dick for you to cut off, but I'd rather not see what you can cut off instead.”

“We are forbidden from carnal, unclean acts.” Guet Imm leans in, her lips grazing his nose. “Will this be carnal? Will it be unclean?”

“It's always unclean. I might have little experience, but I know that.”

Guet Imm flicks her fingers against his cheek. “Well, I have _no_ experience, but I do not think the deity would find this crass. I do not think there would need to be any sacrifice given for this. What does your heart say?”

“My heart...” His heart burns, right now, beating too hard in his chest. His heart says that this is dangerous—that everything he has done with Guet Imm is dangerous. “My heart worries that this will endanger your magic.”

Guet Imm pauses, her fingers freezing. Her head drops, and her shoulders shake.

Tet Sang reaches out to touch her shoulder. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

Guet Imm lifts her head, and Tet Sang realizes she is laughing. “Why would bedding you lead to a loss of my magic?”

“I don't know. It just seems...” Tet Sang clears his throat, feeling heat creep up his neck. “You know... the type of thing that might happen.”

“Do you think bedding Fung Cheong would have cost you the knowledge of the scriptures you worked so hard to obtain?”

“I never had any intention of bedding Fung Cheong, no matter what his plans were.” Tet Sang reaches up hesitantly, trailing his fingers down Guet Imm's cheek and to her neck. Clenching his jaw, he reaches for the ties holding Guet Imm's clothes together.

She could stop him. Even without her magic and his injury, she's in the better position right now. She could rise; she could strike him; she could merely shift his hands away.

Instead she says nothing, staying very still and watching him as he peels the fabric away to reveal the beauty of the body beneath.

Only when he's had several seconds to look, to watch the way the light of the fading day plays off her skin, edging in shadows and creating depths he never would have expected, does she move. She releases the ties she helped him do up so carefully when she was done bandaging him, spreading the fabric open and running her eyes slowly up and down his body.

It shouldn't matter. She's seen him stripped almost naked before—she saw it earlier today, when she tied the bandages around his injury. This feels... different. Somehow this feels as though she's looking beneath his skin, seeing things he's not sure he even sees in the mirror.

Then she places a hand over his eyes. “Breathe, Tet Sang. Breathe and be still.”

He follows her instructions, feeling like a much younger person. How many years has it been since Sister Khanti learned to meditate? Since she was taught how to empty her mind of thoughts, to let cares and worries flow out with her exhalation, to let the deity flow in with each life-sustaining inhalation?

It's easier than he thought it would be. The muscle memory is still there, waiting for him to access it. The mental discipline takes longer to draw back up, but Guet Imm is patient. She doesn't touch him until he's ready, until he's calm and open and accepting.

Her first touch is the ghost of a caress, the breath of the wind over moon-touched water. He shivers, though he doesn't open his eyes, doesn't break the cadence of his breathing.

The caresses that follow grow in intensity, moving from brief little touches to longer, firmer massages. He accepts them, only small movements and little breaks in his breathing giving away how much they affect him.

She builds a fire in him. She does it with an expert precision that she shouldn't be able to manage, but he is in her power, and she is very good at reading his reactions. She is careful to avoid his injuries, but the pain of them isn't a distraction but rather an enhancement of everything else that is happening, salt for the meal that they are crafting together.

He tries to open his eyes. He tries to reach for her, and she immediately presses his arms back down.

All right, then. This is going to be Guet Imm's time, and he will find a way to repay her when she's done.

Then there isn't any chance to think. There is only feeling, and it is wondrous in so many ways.

Wondrous to empty himself as he hasn't done in too long, to make himself a vessel to be filled.

Wondrous to be touched, to be held, to be cherished and coddled.

Wondrous to have Guet Imm's full attention, to know that as much as he is hers, she is _his_. She is getting pleasure from _giving_ him pleasure, and there is something magical in that.

He lifts his hips at her urging, allowing her to slide fabric away from his crotch. The air is cool, a teasing promise.

Then her tongue is on him, _in_ him, and Tet Sang whimpers. He tries to reach for her hair, and Guet Imm grabs his hand, holds him still.

He is hers. She is the one in control of their travels, and though he is a willing participant—though he followed her when she did not expect it—he is not in control.

He doesn't _need_ to be in control.

He whimpers through his orgasm, shivering and shuddering, wincing as his injury protests the movements.

Guet Imm comes to curl against his uninjured side, stroking his hair, kissing his cheek.

Tet Sang blinks the world back into focus, surprised to see how much the shadows have lengthened. “That was...”

Guet Imm smiles, the slow rise of a crescent moon. “Wondrous? Amazing?”

“Yes.” Tet Sang flips fabric back over his exposed, spent body. “I will have to see what I can do for you.”

“You will.” Guet Imm presses tighter against him. “Later. For a few moments... for a few moments, let us just _be_.”

They stay curled together as the sun fades and the moon rises above them. It's a thin moon, just a trace of white in a sea of stars.

“We live, yes?” Guet Imm's voice is a whisper in his ear.

He could say something flippant. If he were with Fung Cheong, he would; if they were anywhere else, with anyone else... but they are not. It's just the two of them, under a distant, impossible, beautiful sky. “We live.”

“Together.” Guet Imm kisses his cheek. “We live together, under the light of the deity.”

“Yes.” Tet Sang turns, reaching out to turn Guet Imm so that their mouths meet. This kiss is gentle, nothing demanded, nothing taken.

Guet Imm sighs, her eyes closing. “When you're ready...”

Tet Sang laughs softly, rolling carefully onto his side before reaching out to touch Guet Imm's collarbone.

They are alive. They found each other despite all that the world contains.

He doesn't know what the future will bring, or how long they will have. He doesn't know when he will do something foolish again, or if Guet Imm will decide to do something even her magic cannot protect her from.

But for now, for a little bit... under the light of the moon... they can reflect each other, and find beauty in the shimmering images that are revealed there.


End file.
